What Anna (my chronically alienated teenage daughter who used to be the sweetest girl in the whole world and still is deep down inside somewhere) deems to be my fault:
1. When she's tired because she stayed up way too late and then had to get up before the crack of noon
2. Any day that her neighborhood friend is not around to hang out with
3. When she has to go to the doctor because she has given herself a puncture wound while doing dishes
4. Her beloved flute teacher's falling ill and cancelling a lesson
5. That life doesn't consist of doing whatever she wants, when she wants.
I have to work on all that, I guess.
She did like us briefly a few nights ago when she was scared silly by a bat that somehow got down our chimney and was zooming around our living room. Though I must say that her shriek (which woke us up) should have been enough to turn my hair white. Larry took care of the problem, while Anna and I barricaded ourselves in the bedroom. You know, if it's retro to feel that the guy has to take care of all bugs, rodents (flying and otherwise), and any other type of household intruder, then just call me old-fashioned, all right? I sat up in that room and listened to Larry chasing the bat all over the main floor of the house and thanked my lucky stars that I'm of the female persuasion. (And he did get rid of it - he managed to chase it out of the house with a laundry basket. See? I never would have thought of that.)